


These Fragments I Have Shored Against My Ruins

by fewthistle



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fewthistle/pseuds/fewthistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa/Anna. When the anger grows too strong to hold in any longer, sometimes letting go is all you can do. One-shot. (If not your cup of tea, I'm sure you can find something to your liking elsewhere.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Fragments I Have Shored Against My Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> ::Sigh:: I can't believe I'm writing Frozen fic. I know, I know. I can't explain what's come over me. Yes, I can: Elsa. I've always had this thing for gorgeous, broken women, even animated ones. And Elsa is definitely broken, despite Disney's halfhearted attempt to make us think otherwise. And broken women really are the most fun to write. Throw in a little incestuous relationship with your sister and what could possibly be better? ;) 
> 
> Anyway, this is my first attempt at Frozen. I've been writing fanfic since God was a child (or since the late 1990's anyway), but this is my first animated character fic. Be gentle with me.
> 
> Few
> 
> ***************************************************************************

The dull, shorter edge of the ancient halberd struck the canvas; the blade not sharp enough to slice, the blow not hard enough to tear. The wielder of the weapon drew back and with a low-pitched cry, swung again in a desperate, furious arc. The second blow went astray, the sound of metal against wood echoing dully through the long chamber as flakes of gold leaf frame swirled downward, coating the slender arm wielding the weapon: a thin, glistening layer of gilt against pale, freckled skin.

Clenched fists loosened for a moment, turning the halberd so that the more lethal side faced outward, then tightened, as the weapon was swung again. This time, the vicious curve of the blade pierced the painted surface. The anguished shriek of the tearing canvas was matched by the almost inhuman sound that issued forth from the vandal’s throat. 

Soon the portrait gallery resounded with the wrenching rip of canvas, the dull thuds as the halberd struck home punctuated with the primal cries of rage and anguish torn from a pale, willowy throat. The muscles in arms meant for nothing more strenuous than the lifting of a tea cup labored against the weight of the weapon, against the strain of the repetitive motion. As blow after blow became weaker and less accurate than the last, the furious, frenzied cries dwindled to hoarse exhalations of air, as tears streamed unchecked down her face. The shouts of frantic voices went unheard, the sharp click of running heels unnoticed by the slight figure wielding the halberd. 

Only the feel of strong arms wrapping around her waist, pinning her upper limbs to her side, the thin crackle of frost spreading along her skin, melding with the gold dust, with the flakes of linen, with the sweat; only that stayed her motion. The weapon slipped from blistered hands, falling with a muted clank against the floor as a voice, the voice she loved most in the world, whispered words of comfort. They sank as one to the hard floor, Anna’s body cushioned against the soft curves of her sister, as Elsa pulled the now trembling figure onto her lap, holding her tightly as she murmured meaningless words of solace.

Anna’s tears broke suddenly, a crumbling dam that finally gave way to thirteen years of pain and confusion and anger. Her slender frame shook in Elsa’s arms, her face buried in the curve of her sister’s neck as she sobbed with the anguish of a child and the bitterness of a woman. Elsa moved her hands in random patterns along Anna’s back, along her arm, sweeping up to tangle for an instant in thick auburn hair at the nape of her neck and then moving back down, her touch tender and soothing, her cheek rubbing gently against her sister’s hair.

Glancing up, Elsa surveyed the wreckage of what had once been a portrait of the late King and Queen. She could still see the faint outline of her father’s crown near the top, just make out the tapered lengths of her mother’s fingers as they rested on the arm of the chair. Aside from that, all that remained was shredded canvas, gaping wounds that mirrored the ones inside her, inside Anna.

Elsa had been frantically searching the castle for her sister. She should have known, should have guessed where Anna had gone. Her sister had stormed out of Elsa’s bedroom an hour ago, her beautiful face twisted into a grimace of anger and despair after yet another futile conversation, yet another endless rehashing of an argument that neither of them would ever win. There was no winning. Only loss.

In the end, they both knew that there was no answer, no rationalization that could ever make what they were, what they felt for each other, right; not in the eyes of the world. Even Anna’s fervently stated belief that no love between consenting adults could ever be wrong would always be beaten down and trampled under the heels of someone else’s opinion. Someone else’s faith. Someone else’s judgment. To the world, what they shared would never be anything other than sin, than abomination. 

Together, they were pariahs, whores.

Separate, they were broken, crippled.

Ruined, either way.

Anna’s sobs grew less frequent, no longer harsh cries, but soft whimpers, the tension in her body lessening as she slowly sank limply in Elsa’s arms. Elsa didn’t speak, simply shifting her legs from beneath her and sliding to lean against the wall beneath the portrait, her sister cradled in her lap.

Anna’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “They destroyed us. They destroyed everything. They were so afraid, so limited that they locked one daughter in a gilded prison and ignored the other. They made you believe it was all your fault. They let me think that I had done something wrong, something to make you stop loving me. They didn’t trust either of us, Elsa. Didn’t trust you with your powers. Didn’t trust me to even tell me that my sister didn’t hate me. For thirteen years, Elsa. And then they left us alone. Separate and alone.”

“Anna, hating them won’t change anything,” Elsa began, her words so weighed down and laden with sadness and regret she expected to see them plummet to the frost-coated floor. 

“How can you not hate them, Elsa? How? Please, I need you tell me how to stop hating them,” Anna whispered, her fingers gripping the icy folds of Elsa’s dress, the cold soothing on her blistered palms. “Sometimes it seems like the only things I can feel anymore are hatred for them and love for you, and both are killing me.”

“If I gave in to my anger, if I let me myself hate them, then I wouldn’t be able to control my powers and the world would burn down in a maelstrom of snow and ice. I could never let that happen, Anna. I could never allow you to be hurt like that. Not again. Besides, I can’t hate them because they gave me you,” Elsa answered quietly, her breath ghosting across Anna’s forehead as she brushed her lips tenderly along her sister’s skin. “Whatever else they did wrong---and if I allow myself to start listing all those things, I’d never stop---whatever else they did, they gave me you and you are the most precious thing in the world to me. I would suffer a hundred years alone, trapped in that room, for just one day with you. I love you, Anna.”

“I love you, too.”

Anna felt the balm of her sister’s words on her blistered soul, felt some of the rage inside her dissipate. They sat in silence for some minutes, the light fading quickly as the late winter sunlight slid in a golden rush along the walls, disappearing into the shadows. Anna sighed deeply, pressing her lips softly against the pulse point at the base of Elsa’s throat.

“Do you ever wonder: If we’d been allowed to grow up together, to see each other every day, to squabble and bicker, to play games and ride horses and….,” Anna murmured, her fingers tracing along the curve of Elsa’s ear.

“And make snowmen?” Elsa inserted softly, a slight catch in her voice at the memories the words evoked and at the sensations her sister’s fingers evoked.

“And make snowmen,” Anna affirmed, again kissing the silken skin of Elsa’s neck. “If they just would have let us be sisters, maybe we wouldn’t feel the way we feel now. Do you think?”

Elsa didn’t reply, but Anna could feel the turmoil in her sister, could feel it in the way the arms holding her tightened just a bit, could see it in the frost the spread a little farther across the floor. 

“Elsa?” 

“Do you…do you wish that they had? Do you wish that you didn’t…that we didn’t…would you rather not love me?” The insecurity and hurt in Elsa’s voice lanced Anna’s heart, jagged briars that caught and tore.

Tilting her head back, her brow furrowed in confusion, Anna met her sister’s eyes, no longer clear blue ice, but clouded, darkened with emotion. “You just spent the last few hours…what am I saying? You’ve spent the last few months telling me that we shouldn’t feel this way, that loving each other like this is wrong. Isn’t that what you want? For me to wish I didn’t feel this way? To want to be “normal”, whatever that word means? Elsa? Isn’t it?”

“I know what I’ve said, Anna. I know. I know…what we _should_ want. What we _should_ feel. I just….we do…we do feel this way. I do love you more than life itself. I do want you. And even though I know that we can’t…that we _shouldn’t_ feel this way, I guess I just need to know that you don’t regret it. Don’t regret me.” Elsa explained, her words disjointed and rambling.

Anna closed her eyes, trying again to push down intense emotion; although this time, not hatred but overpowering love and immense sorrow. She and Elsa were sitting on an ice-coated floor, in the picture gallery of a castle that had been little more than a prison for the past thirteen years. Over their heads hung the tattered remnants of their parents' portrait. The future that lay before them was a minefield, littered with the hatred and fear of those who would judge them. Or, worse: with lonely years apart, married off for safety, for convenience, for treaties and alliances. For the same fears that their parents had allowed to control their lives.

“Do I wish that the past had been different, that neither of us would have been so alone and unhappy? Yes. Would I go back and change it, if doing so meant losing what I feel for you now? No. Do I regret loving you, Elsa? Never.” Anna pronounced firmly, her hands rising to tenderly cup her sister’s face.

Reaching up to grasp Anna’s hands, Elsa pulled them gently from her face, lowering them to place a lingering kiss on the palm of each hand.

“Your hands are blistered,” she said unhappily, pursing her lips to blow a layer of frost across the reddened skin.

“Apparently, I wasn’t cut out to be a knight. Or anything useful, really,” Anna smiled with a hint of self-loathing.

“I think that portrait would beg to differ. I definitely do. Please don’t ever doubt your worth. You’re the most important person in the world to me.” Elsa replied, the corners of her lips turning up a little. The eyes that she raised to meet Anna’s shone brightly with unshed tears. “I could never regret you, either, Anna. Whatever happens to us, whatever we decide to do, please never forget that I love you. Promise me?”

Brushing Elsa’s lips with her own, Anna murmured, “I promise.”

 

FIN


End file.
